


Desperate To Believe

by TLynn



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TLynn/pseuds/TLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is surprisingly far too much to look forward to to give up now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate To Believe

**Author's Note:**

> Post-'Taking A Break From All Your Worries'

These past few days are not ones she will look back on with pride, she thinks.

She studies his profile, taking in the deep lines of his face and his furrowed brow, his eyes cast downward   
and a frown on his face. His shoulders are hunched, the weight of twelve worlds on them, among many   
other things.

She touches his arm again, this time resting her hand there. He is warm and solid and more true than   
anything she’s seen, heard, felt, or done since Baltar has been back aboard _Galactica_.

“Lie down with me, Bill,” she says softly.

She can see some of the weight lift with her words as he straightens his spine and turns his head to look at   
her. His eyes are bright and his expression is soft, a smile playing on his lips. He unbuttons his jacket and   
sheds it, placing it at the foot of the bed. She scoots forward a bit, allowing him room to settle in behind her.   
His chest presses up against her back as his arm settles around her waist.

She relaxes against him, letting his warmth envelop her. She’s had a lot of time to develop her hatred -- and   
that’s what it was, she realizes now, hatred -- of Gaius Baltar. But it took mere days to realize it isn’t worth   
expending that much energy on such a useless emotion. The rage that came with it is too exhausting and the   
voice in the back of her head, the one telling her lines were being crossed, was too loud. Hate isn’t an emotion   
she cares to entertain anymore, not with what is at stake for her people.

And not with what is at stake with the man lying next to her. She’s also had a lot of time to explore what Bill   
Adama means to her and she to him. She’s noticed it’s hard to hold onto _any_ kind of negative emotion   
in the moments he looks at her like he does.

“What a circus this is going to be,” she comments, unable to turn her thoughts completely from the upcoming   
trial.

“It’s obviously going to take some time to get the proceedings started,” he says, his voice rumbling softly in her   
ear. “We’ll get started on it all tomorrow to make sure it’s handled with as little hype as possible.”

“You know that’s going to be impossible,” she says with a sigh.

He’s quiet, knows she right. “How are you feeling?” he asks after a beat.

“Mmmm, okay,” she tells him, resting her arms atop his around her. “Tired.”

“You’re seeing Cottle tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she says. “What sort of campaign slogan can I expect from you two this time? ‘Diloxan or Death’?”

“Don’t talk like that,” he says. “Cottle says--“

“I know,” she says softly. “I know.”

Silence falls between them, the ghost of past conversations heavy in the air. Bill and Cottle had joined forces   
against her in sickbay the day she discovered the cancer had returned. Bill stood in the corner, face grim, as   
the doctor again told her how advanced the cancer was, what her chances were (as if she didn’t know), and   
how important it was that she use this second opportunity to fight against it once and for all. Bill may not have   
been the one speaking, but the words were his as much as they were Cottle’s, if not more so. Though her focus   
was on the man speaking to her, she could feel Bill’s eyes on her, could sense his insistence. She found his   
unwillingness to speak to her directly irritating.

She takes his hand, resting against her stomach, and pulls it up until he’s cupping her left breast above her   
shirt. She anchors it there and feels his body stiffen behind her in surprise.

“It’s here,” she tells him, her tone firm.

He doesn’t respond. She can practically hear him thinking, trying to form the right words. This was an intimacy   
they had yet to share and though it has been building, though she has allowed herself the luxury of wondering   
what it would feel like to have him pressed against her bare body, this moment wasn’t about pleasure.

She uses her right hand to unbutton her blouse as her left curls around his fingers. She pulls his hand below the   
soft fabric until his palm is resting against her nearly-bare breast, the thin cotton of her bra the only barrier   
between them. She holds his hand there, presses it down, presses his fingers into her flesh.

“Do you feel it?” she asks.

She wants him to feel it. Moreover, she needs him to.

“Yes,” he says after a beat, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” she says. “It’s killing me. It’s there and nothing is going to make it go away. Not this time. Certainly not   
Diloxan.”

“So you’re giving up?” he asks, his breath against her neck.

She turns her head on the pillow and faces him, their noses nearly touching. She’s had more than enough time to   
consider her own mortality. She doesn’t want death, but she’s taking the steps to accept it. She needs him to   
accept it as well. She can see the conflict in his eyes, can see the two halves fighting for dominance. She can see   
the disbeliever wanting desperately to believe.

“No,” she tells him. “I’m not giving up. I’m being realistic. I have to be.”

“Laura--“

“I’m going ahead with the treatments,” she says, interrupting him. “But not until after all this mess with Baltar is   
finished.”

It takes him a moment to register her words. Once he does, his smile is immediate, as is the look of relief on his   
face. “What changed your mind?”

She leans in and presses her lips against his softly. His fingers flex against her breast, the movement perhaps   
involuntary, perhaps not. She opens her eyes and smiles at him, catches the flash of embarrassment on his face   
before he darts his eyes away. As she turns to head back, he pulls his hand from beneath her shirt and places it   
back against her belly. She shivers at the loss of contact in spite of herself and smiles.

“I decided there’s just too much to live for not to try.”

The future is as uncertain as it has ever been and hope is in short supply, for her as an individual as well as for the   
Fleet as a whole. Giving up would be easy, perhaps even expected by some, but she’ll never give them the   
satisfaction. Not with the chance to see Gaius Baltar to pay for his crimes, not with the chance to see Earth.

And not with the chance to be with the man falling asleep behind her. She takes easy comfort in his deep, even   
breaths and let the rhythm lull her into a deep, dreamless sleep beside him.

No, there is surprisingly far too much to look forward to to give up now.

* * *  
end

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Dashakay for the wonderful beta.


End file.
